


Tale of the White Wolf

by Eravalefantasy



Series: Witcher One Shots [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Geralt of Rivia - Freeform, Post Game, original short based on game play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 03:30:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8952193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eravalefantasy/pseuds/Eravalefantasy
Summary: Come closer. . . many years have passed. An old bard travels the Realms sharing his tales. This is but one. A favor leads to two old friends meeting in a tavern.





	

“No one knows what happened to the White Wolf – but those with the blackest hearts should tread with care, lest he find them.” The old bard scanned his audience, his final words holding them all in stunned silence at the tale.  

Those gathered around didn’t speak, in fact the bard couldn’t be sure any still breathed until a collective sigh released the crowd from their stupor. Hands clapped in gratitude while others tossed coins at the old man’s feet.  He bowed with a pained flourish, and children picking up his coins cheered when the old bard offered his reward to them.

Someone in the back of the tavern -one patron- didn’t take well to the bard’s story. Cloaked in shadow, the man pulled his hood over his white hair. Piercing yellow eyes followed the old man weaving through the crowd towards the back table. The bard carried close to seventy years on his person; the stranger read the pain of age as the bard struggled to sit.

“Nice touch with the coins.” The cloaked man’s voice deep and gruff continued. “Couldn’t resist, could you Dandelion? The bit with the black hearts . . . a bit much though, don’t you think?”

“Pish, Geralt. I’m here.” Dandelion offered, settling into his chair. “It was one of my better tales, wouldn’t you agree?”

The grumble from the witcher revealed his dislike; Geralt could never understand the draw to stories about his adventures. “You don’t need the coin, so why keep telling these tired tales?”

Dandelion’s face lit with all the vigor of his younger self. “It’s in the telling, my friend. Did you see their eyes widen when you faced the sirens on Yngvar’s Fang? What of the gasp of terror when Myrhyff the ice giant knocked you into the cave wall?”

Geralt rolled his shoulder. “Not how I remember that one going down; nor were you around to see what happened, Dandelion.”

“Fine, fine, yes, that’s true,” Dandelion chuckled, “It’s not about accuracy, Geralt! It’s about mystery and wonder.”

The witcher leaned in and whispered, “getting smacked around by an ice giant in Undvik before Hjalmar helped me bring him down has little to do with mystery and wonder.” The witcher crossed his arms and leaned back. “I think the older you get the more you actually believe these tales of yours.” Geralt sighed, “I guess if you told the truth, your audience might get bored.”

“Then you approve?” Dandelion asked.

Shaking his head, Geralt responded, “if I said no, would you stop?”

A loud laugh from the old man turned a few heads. “Not likely, my friend.”

The two friends chatted until eyes found their table. “Either you’re wanted for an encore, or there’s a few men over there taking an interest in our conversation.” The witcher nodded toward a group of four eyeing their spot at the back.

“It never ends for you, does it?” Dandelion had found the map as requested, but wondered if it would lead to trouble. “Perhaps we should leave? There’s an exit to my right. Go ahead and I’ll find you.”

Geralt stood, removed his hood and glared at the four men. Two stumbled over one another, while the others stared with wide eyes. Replacing the black hood, Geralt offered his help to Dandelion. “Not about to leave you, old man,” Geralt said, “come on, I’ll help you out of here.”

“You’re enjoying this far too much, Geralt.”

Geralt and Dandelion exited the tavern and walked between the buildings. “I have the map you asked for, but I had to use up more than a few favors. I don’t think anyone will go looking for it, but just in case, I replaced it with another highlighting the coastal beauty of Ard Skellig.” Dandelion paused and looked around for any curious onlookers. “Are you going to share or not?”

“Not,” Geralt replied, “it’s better you not know.”

A muffled voice called out from Geralt’s pack drawing Dandelion’s attention. “What was that?”

“It’s a xenovox,” Gerald said, digging into his pack. “Yen’s way of moving me along.”

The witcher pulled out a small metal box and a woman’s voice spoke again. “I am not a _that_ , Dandelion, but a who. Geralt, did you get the map?” Yennefer of Vengerberg, sorceress of the Lodge and longtime love of the witcher spoke through the strange object.

Geralt rolled his eyes and held a finger to his lips. “Yes, I have the map.”

“Well? Stop rolling your eyes at me and let’s go.” The witcher glared at the disc in his hand.

“Yen, I thought you said you couldn’t see me with this contraption.”

Yennefer’s disembodied voice responded. “I can’t see you, but I believe I know you well enough to guess most of your reactions, Geralt.”

Dandelion shrugged. “The lady has a point.”

“Don’t start,” Geralt said, “thanks for the map. Are you all right if I leave you here?”

Another laugh from his old friend and the bard waved away the witcher’s concern. “Sure. I’m guessing your admirers in the tavern likely pissed themselves at your little display and won’t bother to look for either of us.”

Removing his hood again, Geralt scanned their surroundings, finding nothing his lips pressed together and he shrugged. “I don’t like leaving you here alone. I’ll take you to the next town.” Geralt paused, his brow furrowed as Dandelion studied his face. “Something wrong?”

Dandelion regarded his friend. There were new scars, a deep gash on his right cheek and the hint of another from his chin to neck but Geralt looked untouched by time. Decades had passed and Geralt suffered none of time’s cruelties. “I should think to be jealous, my friend, but I’ll attribute what my eyes see to things I doubt I’d understand.”

“Witcher metabolism. We age much slower than humans.” Geralt offered.

Dandelion pulled his cloak around him. He’d run into Eskel several times, and he’d definitely aged. Not wanting to continue on the topic, Dandelion changed the subject. “So if I travel with you, will you tell me what’s going on?”

“No. It’s Yen. That should explain everything.” Geralt offered, helping Dandelion onto his horse.  

The xenovox squawked out Yennefer’s voice. “I can still hear you, Geralt!”

Geralt shoved the xenovox deep into the pack grumbling, “need a way to shut it off.”

Hiding his grin, Dandelion waited for Geralt. “You do realize the place on the map -isn’t there, that’s all mountains.” Dandelion couldn’t simply abscond with the map from Oxenfurt, he’d had to stay several days and spent it researching the area Geralt intended to visit. “Geralt, you’re not looking for the sunken temple are you? Do you know how many have died looking for it? Even if it’s there. If the icy waters don’t kill you the depth will. Oh, should I add the stories of the elementals left to guard the temple?” Dandelion knew well Geralt’s disregard for danger, meeting it often with a shrug. Geralt was a witcher. His lack of concern had always unnerved Dandelion, but their friendship allowed the bard more room to point out the obvious dangers in Geralt’s quest.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before. Once I get in, Yen can follow or get me out by portal.” The two rode the dark dirt roads, towards the town of Fyresdal.

“Why don’t I believe you?” Dandelion said, ending the conversation. He knew better than to continue. Geralt had long held to the belief witchers weren’t meant to die in their beds and where Yennefer was concerned, Geralt rarely said no to her -if ever.

Leading Dandelion in the direction of the Fyresdal Tavern, Geralt helped the bard from his mount.  “Hey, Dandelion. How’s this for a story?" Geralt took a step closer, his voice low. “No one knows what became of the White Wolf. He walks the Path through the darkest woods and into the deepest caves. On nights when the moon is full, if you see a man, two swords at his back riding his mighty steed, know that the Witcher known as the White Wolf hunts the blackest of hearts from the shadows and the dark.”

 A grin spread across Dandelion’s tired visage. “A valiant first try, Geralt. Come back and tell me the rest of the story.” A dark look crossed the bard’s face. “You do plan to come back, right?”

Geralt laid a gentle hand on the old man’s shoulder. “I always plan to come back.” Geralt said. “Keep telling your stories, I’ll find you.”

As the witcher turned away, Dandelion called after him, “Geralt? Remember it’s better not to be the hero of the story.”

“Got me confused, my friend. I’m nothing like the hero.” Geralt shrugged his shoulders before leaving the warmth of the tavern to head into the wilderness of Ard Skelling.

A shiver passed through the old bard, a foreign experience. From the moment they’d met, Dandelion never doubted Geralt. Until now.

Dandelion offered his services without fees and asked the crowd to name the tale.

“What will you hear . . .of Hemdall’s sons and Skellige’s glory?” The bard asked. “The tale of Otkell and Freya’s gift?”

“Give us the tale of a warrior, old man!” A raucous laughter grew around Dandelion.

“A warrior, you say? As you wish! Come closer, dear friends and I will tell you the tale of one known across the Realms. A warrior with no equal-the White Wolf.”

Nods from the elders gathered and banging of mugs on the long tables announced the tale before Dandelion inhaled and began. He would tell the tale of the White Wolf from tavern to tavern until Geralt found him and bade him to stop.


End file.
